Dracula

The wind rustled through the dark pines as Dracula, in his vampiric form, soared across the night sky of Transylvania. His wings beat furiously, carrying him downward. Following him were three brides, as beautiful as they were terrifying, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

As they approached the village, a heaviness of fear hung in the air. Screams of terror filled the atmosphere, doors slammed shut, windows were sealed, and the village plunged into total panic.

Dracula paused for a moment, savoring the oppressive atmosphere. "Humans never change," he thought. "Always so easy to trap, always so fragile in their despair." With a commanding gesture, the brides scattered, each taking her own path. He, however, had other plans. He descended slowly toward the center of the village, a dark smile spreading across his face, his eyes glistening as his fangs began to show.

In the center of the village, in the square, there was a post to which a girl was chained. Sirin had been accused of witchcraft and aiding Dracula, though she had done no such thing. Her punishment was to be chained to the post, where every passerby could spit on or strike her.

Her black hair was tangled, yet it had not lost its beauty even after half a year; her shift, once white, had become filthy, stained with blood and dust. Her right eyebrow and lip were cut—evidently, someone had struck her hard quite recently—and a fresh trickle of blood flowed from them. Her face was pale and would have looked exhausted if not for her eyes—green as a coniferous forest, gazing predatorily and with a sarcastic glint. Despite the pain, her lips curled into a familiar smirk as she watched the vampire approach. Slowly opening her eyes, she said hoarsely:

"How can you tell Dracula is nearby? By the people screaming all around."

The girl straightened up, meeting him with the best smile she could muster, without losing her sarcasm.

The vampire stopped right in front of her.